Bent
by rileyspork
Summary: When Face gets hurt on a mission against a brutal mercenary organization, it has unexpected repercussions for Murdock's well-being. While continuing to battle the shadowy group that now has a personal vendetta against them, they revisit a future that would rather be forgotten, and stand at the beginning of a new chapter of their history. Takes place roughly Season 2-3.


Face buried his face in the back of Murdock's shoulder, as the taller man carried him piggy back, slow over the rough ground, pushing through the thick underbrush. Hannibal looked behind, as he reached forward, to put a hand on the injured man's shoulder, checking for any signs the enemy had caught up to their slow, painful progress.

Gripping the torn fabric of Face's suit, he tried to keep going, his own ankle swelling in his boot and hindering his speed. Murdock's hat was starting to slide off, with Face's head bumping against it. A few steps later, it fell to the ground. Murdock stepped over it, and kept going, without appearing to care.

Face whimpered, quietly, tightening his grip on Murdock's shoulders, "stop... s-stop..."

Murdock halted immediately, and Hannibal, rising after picking up the hat, helped him lower the injured man to the soft forest floor. Face curled, pale and drenched in sweat, breathing harsh and ragged. Murdock knelt over him, gripping the sides of his jacket, and turning him bodily onto his back. He cried out, weakly, at being jostled, and crunched handfuls of dry leaves into nothing in his fists, panting shallowly.

Murdock moved to a point where he could lift Face's upper body into his lap. From that angle, Hannibal could see the blood smearing Murdock's side and back, obscuring the tiger.

Hannibal knelt, and cut away Face's shirt with his belt knife, so he could get at the injury. It wasn't a bullet wound, as he had assumed, but a large, spreading contusion, with a deep laccerationin the middle. Face moaned, and clutched at Murdock's sleeves, as the Captain's hands rubbed his chest.

"Easy, Faceman, I got you. How bad is it, Hannibal?"

Hannibal shook his head, still trying to answer that same question. Face lifted his head, and looked down at himself, then groaned, and dropped his head back against Murdock's belly, face completely white.

"It's bad, but it doesn't look fatal, as long as we get him to a doctor, and none of the intestines are cut. Only problem is, the closest doctor is going to be miles away..."

"Oh, good..." mumbled Face, "miles... okay, I'll just jog on over there to the office, off this mountain..."

He tried to sit up in jest, and but ended up exclaiming in pain, and falling back against Murdock again, "maybe not..."

"What happened, I didn't see?"

"One of them hit me with a broken bat...sharp, I guess.."

"Hannibal, we can't leave BA back there..." Murdock frowned, eyes fixed on his friend's injury.

"Go back for him. I'm not going anywhere. The worst that'll happen is they'll find me."

"I'm not going to leave you alone. They might not want to take you alive." Hannibal shook his head.

"Oh...right..." Face laughed, weakly, starting to get a little stronger for the rest, "I can walk, with help, I think."

Hanibal nodded, doubtfully, "okay."

Face looked horribly weak, and didn't move like he had much strength left. He'd lost blood, but the flow had slowed, and the wound wasn't too terribly deep, so a lot of it was probably just the pain.

Murdock slipped out from under Face's back, crouching beside the blond man, and pulling Face's arm over his own shoulders, in preparation for lifting him to his feet. They would get somewhere safer, clean and bandage the wound as best they could, and then head back to the compound to get BA. Lifting him seemed to drain the color from his face entirely, and he looked like he nearly passed out right then and there.

Murdock held him up, and walked slowly beside him, as he stumbled toward a flat, mossy rock, mostly clear of leaves and brush. He all but collapsed onto the crusty green surface, gasping and shaking, and starting to look a shade of green very similar to the yellowish dried-out moss he was lying atop.

Up came his meager breakfast, two sausage links and some beans cooked over a small fire, and Murdock held him as he retched, holding out a canteen to rinse his mouth when he had deposited everything he had eaten onto the rock, though he continued heaving for several minutes after.

Hannibal left him to rest for a little while, and set about tearing strips of a spare shirt from his pack into bandaging. When he looked back, Murdock looked almost as miserable as Face, holding his friend and gently finger combing the sweat-drenched blond hair out of the attractive features, as Face held on to Murdock's other hand for dear life, mouth open in pain.

Briefly, he considered finding a spot to hide him, and hurrying to the camp and back, but dismissed the thought immediately. Face would be defenseless, and they weren't dealing with Decker. These were ruthless mercenary killers who had already murdered a woman in cold blood.

"Murdock, get him on his back. I need to take another look."

Murdock nodded, heaving his friend over. Face yelled. Murdock flinched visibly at the sound. Hannibal met Murdock's eyes, and the Captain grimly took one of the fabric strips Hannibal had torn, cradling Face's head with one hand, as he stuffed the strip into his friend's mouth with the other.

Face sobbed, through the gag, as Hannibal began to check the laceration more carefully, cleaning his hand as best he could with brandy out of the pack before inserting them. The screams that followed were quieter than the first, thanks to the wad of former shirt, but his body jerked and he clenched his hands into fists so tightly his palms began to bleed where his nails dug into the skin. Murdock gripped his wrists, and he opened his hands, obedient to his friend's silent direction. Murdock pressed his hands to the moss, blood seeping around entwined fingers.

Hannibal only peripherally noticed this, as his attention was focussed mostly on the wound. There were some bits of wood, most of which were loose, and which Hannibal removed, but a few were clearly deep into the muscle. Thankfully, none had gone into his guts. He gently removed the ones that were lodged in, Face crying out through the fabric.

Once Hannibal had bandaged the wound, Murdock gently pulled the gag from his exhausted friend's mouth, and helped him rinse again, this time with a little brandy mixed in to help with the foul taste of the sweaty cloth.

Face moaned, quietly, not really with them, and Murdock shook him until Face managed to meet Murdock's gaze, briefly, before checking out again.

There was no way they were moving until Face had had time to recover, so Hannibal got to his feet, wincing as his ankle throbbed, "Murdock, look after him, I'll go scout the area, make sure they aren't following our trail."

Murdock nodded, pulling his gun. Face seemed to be almost passed out from the pain, and barely opened his eyes, as Murdock lifted his head to slip the blood-smeared leather bomber under it, then closed them again, as Murdock laid down beside him, putting a protective arm across his chest, the gun clutched tightly in his hand, one knee drawn up to rest against Face's hip.

He didn't see any sign of the enemy having followed them. Just their own tracks, which he did his best to cover, as he returned to the rock, moving silently through the woods. He stopped, noticing movement ahead. But it was just Murdock, he realized, getting to his feet atop the rock.

Frowning at Murdock exposing himself like that, he started to hurry forward to urge Murdock to get down, but he stopped before he'd moved more than a step. Murdock was staring up at the trees, his usually warm, wide-open brown eyes overbright and narrow, his mouth set.

That was a look that he hadn't seen often, even during the war, before Murdock had cracked. The crazy act hadn't come out of nowhere, Murdock had had a history of acting the dim goofball since Hannibal had known him, he'd just taken it a lot farther in recent years.

This was no goofball, and no halfwit. Sharp, focussed intelligence and cold, distant anger were the only things Hannibal saw right then. He smiled. This would be an interesting mission. Maybe a more reckless one, for the mood Murdock was in, but definitely interesting.

Murdock turned, looking right at Hannibal, though he hadn't made a sound. Hannibal stepped out, "how is he?"

Face sat up, though it was clearly excruciating, face white, "better."

Hannibal nodded, surprised that Murdock didn't immediately camouflage the change in his demeanor, as he turned back to Face. Face didn't seem to notice, too busy trying to get to his feet. Murdock lifted him bodily upright, and slung his friend's arm across his shoulders again, smiling once more, "and the bold knight mounts his faithful steed..."

"Uh-huh. If you were a steed, we'd be there by now..."

Face definitely seemed better for the rudimentary treatment–or at least snarkier–as they headed on, back into the deep woods, towards the compound, but he still wasn't able to more than shuffle, Murdock neighing beside him.

Their progress was slow, but steady. Murdock supported as much of Face's weight as he could, and Face managed to keep down some strips of dried beef, enough to give him a little bit of strength back to stagger forward. They were horrendously loud, and left a trail through the brush practically big enough for the van to traverse, but at least they were moving.

Murdock kept up a running commentary on the plants they passed, and Face replied with single syllable, disinterested answers. Hannibal was suspicious of the normality, given what he'd seen of Murdock's mood, earlier, but let it go without comment. Maybe he had been wrong, and Murdock had just been upset and trying to hide it.

Resting often, they were within earshot of the main road by sundown. They found an abandoned trailer, rotting away in sparse trees off a back road, slowly being swallowed back up by nature. It didn't look exactly safe, but it would have to do for the night, as there was only dim red light left in the sky.

The floor creaked loudly, as Face fell towards a rusty metal chair, dripping sweat from the effort he'd put in over the last hour of travel, trying to get to shelter before full dark. Murdock knelt, and undid the bandage, quickly and efficiently, joking the whole time. Hannibal knelt beside him, awkward with his swollen ankle, and shone a flashlight on the wound in the shadowy dark of the decrepit trailer.

The bruising had darkened, and the clotting had cracked, was oozing blood onto the skin around it, and soaking into the bandaging. Face slumped in the chair, chin on his chest. Once they had finished rebandaging, Murdock and Hannibal lifted the nearly unconscious lieutenant to a not too rotten section of floor, laying him in what they hoped was a comfortable position. On the other hand, he seemed past caring.

Hannibal was on watch outside the trailer, currently sitting on the front steps, when he heard something off in the woods, behind the structure, if it could be called that. He stood, unlit cigar clenched in his teeth, and limped on a stiff, painful ankle around back. There was nothing there, even as he shone the flashlight. He turned, and went back to the front, poking his head in the door to check on Face and Murdock.

Face looked fine, albeit a bit pale, but that could have just been the harsh light of the flashlight. Something scurried out of one of the cabinets, the door hanging down from one hinge, and he followed it with the beam. A rat. He shook his head, and looked to Murdock...who wasn't there. Instead, there was a note, scribbled on an old receipt.

Murdock must have known they couldn't follow him in time to do anything, not with their combined injuries, and he hadn't wanted them to. He wanted Face as far from danger as possible, and knew Hannibal wouldn't be able to move the lieutenant with his ankle like it was.

Hannibal was coming to the conclusion that he didn't like this calculating, sneaky Murdock. Unpredictable was fine, and expected, but he had never actively subverted a plan like this before.

Hannibal went back outside, and sat down again, lighting his cigar, and sighing. He would wake Face, and see if they could get moving, and maybe make it there in time to help. But first he would need a stick, or something to lean on, if he was going to support Face's weight, as well as his own...

Turning from sawing a stick to an appropriate length, as he heard a crunch in the distance, he sensed rather than saw the man in the woods. Moving as fast as he could back to the trailer, he squinted, trying to make out what was happening in the grey light before the sun truly started to rise, but after the stars were all out. A gun fired, and he pushed faster, to get there in time. Face was on the ground, on top of a man, a gun in his hand, the muzzle pressed to the man's chin. His bandage was dripping blood.

It was definitely one of the mercenaries, but he wasn't carrying any heavy weaponry, just a pair of binoculars and a .45. Hannibal cocked his gun. This guy was probably just a scout, they were likely to be attacked any–

The blow came before he heard the footsteps, the cigar slipping from between his teeth and falling to the forest floor, as he crumpled.

Waking, he found himself staring up at a tin roof leaking light through a multitude of holes and cracks. Turning, he saw Face sitting up, against the cinderblock wall. He looked okay, albeit still pale. Someone had replaced the soaked bandages.

"You're awake."

"Yeah...what happened?"

"They snuck up on us...knocked you out, didn't bother with me. Just put a bag over my head and tossed me in a truck next to you. Apparently I'm not fit enough to be a threat at the moment."

"Uh-huh."

"I don't know what they did with Murdock. He wasn't in the truck...I didn't see him."

Hannibal looked sharply at the young man, in response to the small, almost unnoticeable note of fear in the Lieutenant's voice.

"He left before they came. Left a note. Apparently he decided to take out this whole compound on his own, and get BA back...speaking of, did you see BA?"

Face shook his head, "they only took the bag off in here."

"Any clue as to what part of the compound we're in?"

"I smelled manure right before we reached this shed...that's about it."

Hannibal nodded, leaning forward to undo the laces on his boot. His ankle was swollen to almost twice its normal size, and the boot was agonizing.

"What's going on with you and Murdock?"

Face looked surprised, "what?"

"He's never acted like this before."

Face looked at the ground, then up again, "Someone from the VA called me, or, called Dr. Stern, anyway, the alias I've been using to get him out the last couple months. He was having nightmares, only nobody could get him to wake up. I got there...he was screaming."

Face shook his head, and looked down again, "it was like when he first had to go there. I hadn't seen him like that in eight years. It was right after that mission when I got knocked out, by the little lady with the two-by-four?"

Hannibal nodded, "a stellar moment in your combat record..."

Face rolled his eyes, "anyway, it was right after that. Once we got him to wake up, he wouldn't let go of me, for anything. I don't know what it was, but something set him off, the last time I was hurt."

Hannibal nodded, without replying.

What would Murdock do? Where would he start? He would need a distraction... and did he know they were here, or would he go back to the trailer? Or their emergency rendevous point?

He smelled smoke. Carefully, he pulled himself to his feet on the wall, and climbed painfully up onto a box, to look out the sole small window in the shack. There was dark smoke rising over the woods in the distance, and coming closer, blown on the wind. He could just see tongues of flame, beginning to swallow trees, marching onwards in the direction of the breeze.

That would be Murdock's distraction, whether he had created it or not. When it reached the compound, whatever he was planning would go into action.

Murdock was smart...smarter than Hannibal, and smarter than just about anyone Hannibal had ever met. Just because it was a bit sporadic and hidden under layers of crazy and pretending to be crazy didn't mean there wasn't a chance he could be scarily effective. It came out in his piloting skills, and the languages he spoke, and the times he had consulted for the CIA...but how would it come out, now?

Hannibal sat back down. Nothing would happen until the fire reached the compound. He had time to work on a plan of his own. And they were locked in a storage shed. There was bound to be something they could use.

Twenty minutes later, the door burst open. Face and Hannibal were ready with the bed-spring slingshot, but didn't let it fire. It was BA, and Murdock behind him. BA unhooked the wires, and Hannibal let go, once he could do so without sending the fire extinguisher flying across the room.

"Dang fool nearly got me killed."

"Ah, come on, BA, it wasn't that close..." wheedled Murdock, going immediately to Face's side.

He looked back to normal. Hannibal knew better than to trust it, but, then again, Face was close to safe, now, not in more danger than on any other mission, since his injuries had proved to be painful, but not immediately life threatening.

He would have to have a talk with Murdock, about something like this never happening again. But not right now.

Hannibal leaned on BA, as Murdock helped Face towards the door behind them.

The compound was devastated, and not by the forest fire raging behind them. Murdock looked at the fires, ignoring the remains of levelled buildings, and, nearby one *melted truck.

"That's really a shame. We should try and stop that fire, Hannibal," murmured Murdock, as Face leaned against him.

"You didn't start it?"

"No, I was just going to blow up the manure pile, as a distraction. Good thing I didn't, though, or else BA wouldn't have been able to tell me you two were here before the explosion had taken out that shed, with you in it."

BA nodded , "I saw those mudsuckers bringing you in."

"Murdock, that's why you shouldn't have gone off alone."

Murdock stopped, for a moment, then swallowed, and nodded. "I know."

Face groaned, pained and exhausted, and in a bad mood, "can we just get out of here, now?"

Murdock nodded again, "this way, I left one of the trucks functioning. Just have to put the battery back in, took it out so they couldn't use it."

One did seem to be the number he had left without some kind of disabling damage. The whole compound looked like it had been evacuated on foot. Uneasy about Murdock's rash actions, the sheer mass of destruction he had brought down mercenary's compound was almost worth it. Something told Hannibal they wouldn't be up to much for a while, their entire infrastructure and probably most of their supplies had been taken out overnight.

Murdock was still looking at the hills, alight with flame, licking at the edges of the already smoldering compound. He looked back at a semi-collapsed barn.

"What is it, Captain?" asked Hannibal.

Murdock turned to him, "there was a chopper in there. I took it out...but maybe me and BA can get it running again, and get a head start on helping the forest service put out that fire."

Hannibal looked at Face, who shrugged, and then at BA, who glared, "I'm not going in any helicopter."

"Nobody's asking you to, BA. Just help Murdock fix it."

BA nodded, and, after Murdock eased Face to sit atop the concrete step to the storage shed, followed the Captain towards the barn.

Face just sat, hand pressed to his bandages, looking around at the collapsed buildings, "maybe we should let him loose more often."

"That would be if you were expecting him to be predictable in some way."

Face was silent, for a moment, then chuckled, winced violently, and rested his elbow on his thigh, watching BA brandish a wrench at a giggling Murdock.

Fifteen minutes later, Murdock had taken off with BA drooling in the back of the chopper next to Face, who'd had too much trouble getting up into the helicopter to make it onto the seat, Hannibal sitting shotgun. What had been the top of a water tower hung down, a large hole punched in the bottom, so it drained down beneath the chopper's path.

Hannibal leaned down, to replace the boot on his right foot, despite the swelling. He heard, rather than saw, what happened next. The noise of an approaching something, and then a boom that rocked the chopper, and sent it spinning.

"Tail roter's on fire...Face, tie yourself and BA to something, we're going down."

Hannibal looked behind, at Face trying to heave the large man towards Hannibal's seat, to tie him to the back of it with cargo straps. Hannibal reached back, and helped move him, pulling on BA's wrists.

"I got him, get yourself secure."

Face nodded, and set about tangling himself in the cargo straps near the back of the chopper.

Down they went, spinning and dropping sporadically, as Murdock fought the failing controls. They didn't quite make it past the edge of the fire, before they hit the burning trees, and caught there. A moment later, they broke free, the charred, weakened trunks giving way, and the chopper landed on top of the still semi-full water tank, tipping forward until the nose was touching the ground, and the tail was nearly vertical in the air.

Murdock released his seatbelt immediately, climbing upwards to check on BA, and then the rest of the way up to Face, who was struggling out of his makeshift harness. Murdock caught him, as Face worked free of the straps, falling towards the seats. They both slid back to the nose, ending up against the back of the pilot's seat.

The air inside was starting to heat up. The fire was mostly out directly around where they had landed, probably partially due to the water that had fallen during their descent, but they could still barely see or breathe, for the rolling smoke.

Hannibal turned back to look at the other three again. Face was dead white, clutching belly with one hand, as he held on to Murdock with the other, but he didn't look like he had suffered any further injuries. Murdock left his side, climbing back up to the tail, where flames were starting to lick through a hole in the side of the chopper. He withdrew a small stick from his jacket pocket, held it to the flames, and then slid back down to his friend, waggling the white sparkler in front of him, "look, Face...it's like the Fourth of July!"

Hannibal smiled, and climbed off his seat, leaving his boot behind, to start untying BA.

The flames were starting to come close again, the water-soaked ground steaming as they approached. Hannibal slid the door open, pushed BA out, and then turned back to Face and Murdock, as Murdock helped Face drag himself painfully to the door. On the blackened ground below, BA moaned, beginning to wake up.

"What the hell!"

"Start moving, BA."

Murdock jumped down, and backed up to the floor of the chopper, so that Face could climb onto his back. Hannibal grabbed at branches and trunks as they hurried out, coughing from the smoke, eyes stinging, shoes singed by coals and active flames. His boot-less sock caught on fire twice, but mercifully went out with the next step.

He heard a sound behind him, wondered if it was Face throwing up again, but ignored it, and kept pressing forward.

By the time they made it to green, smoky woods, with leaves still on bushes, BA was wheezing, and Face was barely with them, his face mushed in Murdock's neck. Murdock looked exhausted, and he had what had previously been Face's stomach contents smeared on the shoulder of his jacket, fresh blood on top of what was crusted on the leather from that morning.

They collapsed, and Hannibal reached, removing the charcoal sock from his burned, swollen foot. He turned around, and watched BA help Murdock set Face on the ground, gripping under his armpits and lifting him off the pilot's back, as Murdock knelt, gently lowering Face's legs.

They arranged him on his side, and Murdock sat by his head, looking at Hannibal directly.

Hannibal ignored the look, and turned to BA, "you and Murdock find a water source. I'll stay here with Face. Come back as soon as you locate one, and we'll move again."

BA nodded, gripped Murdock's sleeve, and dragged him on.

Hannibal scooted to sit in spot Murdock had vacated, gripping Face's shoulder, "you with me?"

Face opened his eyes, blearily, and nodded, "think I passed out for a minute. Sorry, Hannibal."

"Don't worry about it. Rest for now."

"You look like you've got something else to say besides telling me to rest."

"I guess I've got a question."

"I can move it better now."

"That's not the question. ?"*

He stopped, sighed, coughed, and laid his head on the ground, looking up at Hannibal with puffy, smoke-irritated blue eyes, his nostrils smeared with soot from wiping them on the back of his hand, "."

Hannibal leaned on Murdock, as the made their way through the woods, towards the river they had found. Face was on BA's back. He did seem to be doing better, was just too worn out to walk as Murdock was too worn out to carry him easily.

"Colonel?"

"Yeah, Captain?"

BA had stopped a few paces behind, Face readjusting his grip around the absurd amount of gold, letting Murdock speak in private for a moment, "I'm sorry I almost blew you up."

The camp they made was actually fairly sheltered, against the growing wind and dropping temperatures, in a hollow left by a fallen tree pulling up its roots, thirty paces from the river. Hannibal sat in the bottom, Face curled up pretty much in his lap, as BA and Murdock collected tubers and firewood for the night.

When they settled in, Murdock sat shivering to one side, staring up at the sky, until BA cuffed him around the shoulder, and dragged him until his head rested against BA's stomach, and an arm was stretched across the heavier man's hips, "you're gonna freeze, fool."

In the morning, they took some time to plan. Face didn't really join in, he was starting to run a fever, and was in a lot of pain. He laid in the soft, churned up dirt, arms around his middle, breathing heavily, face in his shoulder to muffle little gasps and almost-whimpers that seemed to be slipping out despite his best efforts.

From what Murdock had seen climbing a tree on the hill rising above the river, they had another two days of slow, arduous hiking to get out of the woods.

The second night, Face slipped, going down into the sheltered area beneath some projecting rocks, and Hannibal was fairly certain he wasn't the only one who felt nauseous at the scream dying into long, desperate moans and soft, drawn out sobs. Murdock and BA both looked pale, as they climbed down to help, though BA looked more angry, Murdock just stricken and sick.

They managed to hitch a ride, fifthly and bedraggled as they were, when they finally reached the road. An older man in a decrepit pickup was their rescuer, and he laughed when they expressed surprised that he had stopped, answering simply with, "I've looked worse."

Hannibal pushed through the door, into the waiting room, and looked around for the other two members of his team. He found them on the floor, in the corner of the room. BA sat against the wall, Murdock face down in his lap.

"Get this sucker off me."

Hannibal ignored the whispered, angry command, deferring to BA's hand rubbing in a slow, repetitive path over Murdock's back as the actual indicator of BA's attitude to his new role as his teammate's pillow. Hannibal bent down, moving Murdock's jacket, hat, and an Etch-a-sketch that must have come from the box of children's toys in the middle of the room. A cartoon character he only vaguely recognized had been reproduced in the aluminum powder, and he was careful not to shift it and erase the drawing.

He sat down in the space he had cleared, crossing his legs, and leaning an elbow on his right knee, his chin on his palm, "Face is going to be fine. There's a little bit of infection, but antibiotics should clear it up. His ribs are bruised, one's cracked."

BA nodded, and Hannibal didn't comment on the fact a large, bejeweled hand was now absently combing through Murdock's hair.

"He's going to be slow, though. Depending on how he is after the doctors finish, he's going to be in a lot of pain for a while, and have trouble moving. And I can't imagine the LPA is going to take what Murdock did without retaliation."

"So what do we do?"

"Keep Face safe, and keep a sharp eye out for trouble. Not much else we can do, for now."

BA looked down at Murdock, scowled, but didn't stop petting him, and looked back up at Hannibal, grinning, "was worth it."

Hannibal smiled, "it was."

"Hannibal?"

Hannibal sat up, in the stiff, uncomfortable chair in the hospital room, "hey, Face. How you feeling?"

Face shifted in the hospital bed, so that he was a little bit more upright, and shrugged, "kinda hurts."

Hannibal nodded, "yeah, it's probably going to do that for a while. Murdock and BA got the van, we can head out as soon as you're ready, the doctor cleared you while you were asleep."

"Okay."

Face got up, slowly, gingerly. He was panting shallowly by the time he was upright.

Hannibal walked out of the hospital room, Face behind him, slowly walking forward, bracing himself against the wall. BA was waiting out in the hall, but Hannibal didn't see Murdock.

He raised his eyebrows at BA, who jerked his thumb around the corner. Hannibal went to investigate, and found Murdock sitting on the floor in the hallway, a nurse bending down over him, as he worked the knobs on the Etch-a-sketch, "and he's got big, floppy ears, and his tail never stops wagging, 'cept when somebody's hurt..."

Hannibal crouched on Murdock's other side, "drawing Billy?"

Murdock nodded, and flashed a big smile at Hannibal and the lady nurse. She smiled back, "what color are his eyes?"

"Uh, hard to tell."

Hannibal looked up, as footsteps approached. He fought, the hands that gripped him. Murdock was yelling. They grabbed the nurse. He and Murdock stopped, dropping everything but the Etch-a-sketch, Murdock hugging it to his side with his elbow, as he lifted his hands.

When they went to take it, he started yelling, and didn't stop until they gave it back, looking at each other in confusion.

Murdock moaned, turning his head from side to side, the blood running from the cut on the side of his head caking with dust and grime from the dirty floor, the water dripping from his torso darkening the rough concrete. One cheek looked swollen.

"Murdock?"

He opened bleary brown eyes, though it seemed to be a struggle for him to focus them, "Face?"

"Sorry, H.M., it's Hannibal."

"Oh, heeeeey Colonel..."

"Hey, Murdock. You with me?"

"Yeaaah, Hannibal. I'm 'ere."

Murdock rolled onto his side, into the light coming through the window in the cell door. Hannibal could see the burns from electrocution on his chest and arms, the skin of his wrists torn through, leaving a deep, bloody interruption in the skin. He shivered, and curled a little bit in on himself.

Hannibal got to his feet, and retrieved the bedragled leather jacket from the corner. There was a narrow, white-coated wire poking through the fabric inner lining. One of Murdock's sparlkers. He pushed it back in, and covered Murdock with the coat.

Murdock smiled, worked his mouth for a moment, and pulled out a large puff of steel wool, "got hungry. Hard to chew, though."

They had probably used the wool as the electrocution contact. He had to smile a little at the idea of the jaundiced interrogator's face when Murdock started eating the torture device.

Hannibal adjusted the jacket, tucking it around Murdock's increasingly bony shoulders. The days of torture and little food were taking their toll.

Murdock's eyes widened, and he pushed at the jacket, clumsily, rolling over, away. Hannibal pulled it off the panicked pilot, hurriedly, "what's wrong? Murdock?"

"Blood."

Hannibal looked down. There were bloodstains, still, but he'd cleaned most of it off in the hospital. He sniffed. It did still smell like blood, though, and stomach acid.

"Okay. I'm putting it over here, alright?"

Murdock nodded, but he seemed a thousand miles away, eyes wide and fixed.

"What are you seeing?"

"Just like Face, Hannibal. Bleeding, dying, blood everywhere. Slow, dying slow. The smell, everyone was vomiting...Infection, dehydration, emesis, hypovolvmic shock... forty-eight hours, fifty..."

"Face isn't dying. He got to a hospital, he's fine."

"They did, though. They died. All of them, but me. Smelled the same... acid, and rotting, and blood..."

Murdock met Hannibal's eyes, mouth open slightly, trembling, "you never get over that smell."

Hannibal sat down beside him, pulling the younger man into his lap, "who died?"

"Them...the men... Carlo...even Billy. He died, Colonel."

"...the dog? That Billy?"

"I killed'm all... they all..."

He gasped, shuddering, "lying all over the jungle, I couldn't even move'm... Carlo died next to me, big branch in his gut...he pulled it out, died in a minute, staring, blood spraying all over him 'n me..'n Billy never stopped lookin' at me, with them eyes on wet red string...I can't even remember what they looked like before...just...hangin'...head with somethin' stuck in it...he never knew what I did...never knew I killed 'im...but kept lookin'..."

The crash. A year before Hannibal had met him, he had been flying a medivac chopper. He only went on to combat flights, and later Hannibal's command, after he was downed by rocket fire.

Between the torture, and Face being injured, the Captain's grip on the here and now was starting to slip a lot more seriously.

Hannibal stayed silent, and just held his pilot, as Murock sobbed. After a minute, he reached, and handed Murdock the Etch-a-sketch. He hadn't stopped obsessing over the toy, for whatever reason, to the point where their captors had let him keep it just to shut him up.

Hannibal looked up at the ceiling of the tiny cell.

He needed a plan, fast. Murdock wouldn't survive another week of this.

He needed a plan.

The door to the cell opened. The jauncidced man and the bearded one dragged Murdock in, by his arms, which were bound together tightly, and dumped him on the concrete, with an audible crack of bone on stone, as his head hit the floor. Hannibal got to his feet, "what did you do?"

"He was not cooperating. We taught him the importance of obedience."

Hannibal glared, until they left, then crouched beside the Captain.

Murdock's body was covered in fresh burns, but this time they didn't look electrical. It looked like they had cut him, and then seared the wounds closed, multiple times over.

"Murdock?"

"Khuôn mat ban là mot con vit."

"What about ducks?"

Murdock moaned, and pushed with his feet, until he managed to turn onto his side.

Then he stuck his hand in his mouth, and started to gag. Hannibal tried to stop him, but he fought with a surprising amount of strength, and before long, he was choking, instead of gagging. Hannibal forced his mouth open, saw something stuck in the back of his throat, as his brown eyes rolled, panicked.

Two heimlich thrusts later, the object shot a few feet out of Murdock's mouth, skittered to a halt, and Murdock collapsed, gasping and beginning to sob.

Hannibal looked.

A small engraved lighter, scratched by its path across the concrete.

Hannibal stared at it, for a minute. Then at the jacket, containing at least one magnesium sparkler, the Etch-a-sketch filled with aluminum powder, and the pile of rust that had previously been steel wool bitten off the electrical contacts over three weeks of torture.

He knelt beside his pilot, and pulled Murdock into his lap, starting to work the bonds off his bleeding wrists, "you with me, Captain?"

"Dinh viec cháy...toi xin..."

"I don't remember that much Vietnamese, Murdock. Try English...or...something else."

"Watashi wa itami de gozen."

"Okay..."

Murdock turned his head, and opened his eyes, staring at Hannibal.

"Can you hear me, H.M.?"

"H.M.?" a small, uncertain voice.

"Captain James Murdock. Can you hear me?"

"'m just'a S'c'n L-T..."

"What?"

"Second Lieutenant," answered Murdock, thickly, "not Captain."

"You haven't been a second lieutenant in almost fifteen years. Look at me."

Murdock did look, staring up at him blankly.

"You held out through torture, to get us what we needed to escape. You can hang on enough to get out."

"...Don't wann'o."

"Does the name Templeton Peck mean anything to you, Murdock?"

There. Something. A flash. Murdock.

It was enough.

Hannibal gently eased the pilot out of his lap, and went to the corner, to mix the thermite that would melt straight through the hinges on their cell door. Behind him, as he worked, he could hear soft, swallowed sounds, Murdock suffering and confused. He worked faster.

Hannibal swung the stolen truck around the corner so fast the back tires slid around the bend, more than turned it. Murdock was buckled in beside him, obsessively changing the radio station, even as they careened off road, swerving widely through risky terrain to hold off their pursuers.

"What are you doing?" asked Hannibal, as they reached a flat, though rocky stretch, and gunned it.

"The Detective Squiggle show. It's starting in three minutes."

They burst out onto the highway, and sped up to eighty. Murdock leaned over, and stared out the window, like they were on a leisurely drive in the country, body thunking against the side door each time they swerved.

Hannibal dragged him back into the more sheltered parts of the car, and looked in the rearview. Three black trucks had pulled on behind them, were gaining. He clenched a cigar he'd stolen as they fled between his teeth, the sweet, creamy spice of the mild tobacco not quite bold enough for his taste.

Flashing lights ahead. He barrelled through. They were behind, the black trucks mixed in, seven or eight vehicles chasing them, as they hit the borders of the city.

Out of nowhere, a white corvette flashed past. Hannibal turned to follow it, around a tight corner, skidding, almost hitting a lamppost, a newspaper stand, a hot dog cart...

And then down, into a parking garage, a roll-up steel door shutting right behind them.

He got out, gun drawn. Face opened the car door, leaning against the frame with one hand, as he grinned.

"Police scanners are just so useful, aren't they..."

Hannibal grinned, and turned back in the dim light, to look at Murdock. He was staring out the window at Face, eyes wide.

"You with us, Captain?"

Murdock looked at Hannibal, "yessir."

He stopped, frowned, then shook his head, "I think."

"You recognize him?"

Murdock nodded, slowly.

"You know who I am, who BA is?"

Murdock nodded.

"Then that's good enough. Come on."

Murock slowly climbed out of the truck, through he almost collapsed as soon as he was on his feet.

"Where's BA?" Hannibal asked of Face.

"Setting up a few false leads for them to buy us time. Murdock, are you okay? You aren't looking so hot."

Murdock paused, for a long moment, then shrugged, "yeah. Just a little bent. Not broken. And me'n Billy are real glad to see you, Face."

"Okay. It's not like I was going anywhere..."

Murdock nodded, and wobbled his way over to hug his friend, squeezing a loud, pained grunt out of the slightly shorter man.

Hannibal ducked through the door of the warehouse they where sheltering in. Standing just inside, he waited to drip off, a puddle of rainwater forming at his feet, as he looked around. Face was working on forging a document, sitting on a rolly chair with a broken wheel, Murdock's jacket spread across his lap, under the board he was using as a lap desk. BA was at the van, working on the engine.

Hannibal frowned, "where's Murdock?"

BA looked up, and waved a wrench at the sleeping bags spread out in the opposite corner, but stopped halfway through the gesture, when he saw that Murdock wasn't there.

Hannibal went back to the door, walking around the building. After a moment, BA joined him, holding a trashbag up over his head as a makeshift umbrella.

Around the corner, they found him, sitting on the ground, shivering and soaked to the bone. He smiled, when he saw them, "heeeello."

"Murdock, come back inside."

Murdock's face dropped, a little, "can't. There's no air inside."

Hannibal crouched beside him, "it's too cold for you to stay out here and get wet."

"I'm fine," Murdock grinned, but it was spoiled slightly by his teeth chattering violently.

Hannibal sighed, "if we park the van out here, will you stay in that?"

Murdock shook his head.

Hannibal frowned. Murdock was pale, and there were nail marks in his palms, his lips a little redder than usual, like he'd been biting them. There were also pink stains on his t-shirt, where his wounds had been washed open.

Behind, slow, slightly uneven footsetps approached, and Hannibal glanced back, to see Face coming up, in a blue slicker, holding a space blanket and a raincoat. He reached them, sat down in the mud with a grunt, and handed Murdock the jacket, "put this on.'

Murdock did, slowly. Face scooted closer to him, leaned against the wall beside him, and covered them both with the plastic blanket, "I'll finish the contract later, Hannibal."

Hannibal left, BA trailing behind, looking backwards over his shoulder at the two taller men, 'Hannibal, the fool's getting worse."

Hannibal nodded, "A lot happened for him, in the last month. Give him time."

About an hour later, Hannibal went back out, to check on the two. Face was still sitting against the wall, but Murdock had laid down in his lap, head on his right hip, curled up under the shiny blanket. He didn't sit up, but he smiled, and turned his head, when he noticed Hannibal approaching.

"Hi, Colonel."

"Hey, Murdock. Ready to come in?"

Murdock shook his head, and ducked under the blanket entirely.

Face reached underneath, and rubbed over Murdock's bony shoulders, avoiding the hurts lower down on his back. Face caught Hannibal's eye, and Hannibal turned, heading back inside.

About twenty minutes later, the door opened, and Face and Murdock came back in. Face had his arm around Murdock's waist. Both of them were soaked, despite the plastic blanket and raincoats, and Face looked like his injury was hindering him more than usual...but that could just have been the pilot glued to his side.

Hannibal got up, and went to the van to grab towels out of the back. BA looked up from working on the engine, glared in Face and Murdock's general direction, and then looked back at Hannibal, "this ain't right."

"I know, but he'll get better."

"Not the fool–he ain't never been right, and that don't matter. Us hiding. How long is it gonna be before they're back to the same damn stuff? We need to take'm out, Hannibal. And they need to pay for what they did to the fool."

He glared in Murdock's direction again.

Hannibal shrugged, got the towels, and went over to the Captain and the Lieutenant. Face took the red towel Hannibal held out, and handed it to Murdock, "hey, pay attention. Dry off."

Murdock took the towel, slowly, shaking his head as he came back from spacing out. He looked down at the towel in his hands, then grinned, and gripped Face's jacket, holding him in place with one hand, as he wound the towel around Face's head in a turban, with the other.

Face rolled his eyes, at Hannibal, but he was grinning despite himself.

Hannibal handed him the other towel, and went back to checking the newspaper for leads. When he looked back up ten minutes later, finishing the section, he saw Face just getting into his sleeping bag, Murdock sitting on top of the one beside him, still dripping, the towel in his lap. Face turned over, and gripped the side of Murdock's bag, just with one hand, before laying his head down on the cushion made of dirty clothes stuffed in a pillowcase, and closing his eyes.

Five minutes later, Murdock was screaming, head in his hands.

Twenty seconds after that, he was flanked by BA and Face, BA's bejeweled hand holding a fistful of his t-shirt, Murdock's face in Face's chest, pinned to the floor by the two men while he thrashed, so he wouldn't hurt himself. It probably didn't help him figure out where he was.

Face looked up, and Hannibal guessed that as soon as Murdock was back, the lieutenant would be expressing the same need to strike back as BA.

Hannibal set down the newspaper.

Murdock yelled, again, in something that wasn't Vietnamese, and definitely wasn't English.

"Murdock, you're okay. You're with us. Can you hear me?" Face tried to get him to look, but he refused to open his eyes, and promptly pushed his head back into Face's stomach, making him grunt when pressure hit the still healing area.

Then, quietly, "...Carlo?"

"No, fool, it's BA and Face. Who the heck is Carlo?"

Murdock sat up, abruptly, attacking Face's shirt. Face let him push him down, and tear it open, button threads snapping and letting their charges skitter away in all directions. Murdock stared down, and, hands trembling violently, touched the pink, raw scar from a month before.

"Murdock, I'm okay. Can you look at me, up here? I promise, I'm okay."

"You never stopped staring. Blood all over you, all over everything, kept staring."

"No, I don't think so. Murdock, look at me."

Murdock screwed his eyes shut, "don't wanna see you starin'. Billy's bad enough."

"I'm not Carlo. It's Face, not Carlo. Lieutenant Peck. Templeton."

Slowly, Murdock opened one eye, then the other. He swallowed, both hands still pressed to Face's skin. Face gently gripped his hands, "easy. Okay? Keep looking at me, alright?"

Murdock nodded, slowly, glancing from the Lieutenant's face, to their hands, and back up.

BA got to his feet, and walked a couple paces away, stopping and watching from a distance.

"You're warm."

Face nodded, squeezing Murdock's hands, a little, "uh-huh. And you're freezing. God, why aren't you shivering?"

"Don't feel it."

"Lay down?"

Murdock nodded, letting Face pull him onto an unzipped sleeping bag, shoulders still trembling, not letting go of Face for a single second.

Face laid down, and Murdock followed suit, staring with unsettling intensity at the lieutenant.

Face sat up a little, enough to zip the sleeping bag. It looked like a tight fit, but Murdock didn't seem to mind, clinging bodily to his friend.

BA went back to working on the van, shaking his head. He looked angry, which Hannibal translated as upset.

Murdock cried, for a long time, starting to shiver and chatter when he warmed up enough to regain the instinct. That he had been that seriously hypothermic explained some of the confusion...but not all of it, and didn't explain why he had felt such a strong compulsion to be outside in the cold in the first place.

"Murdock."

Murdock opened his eyes, yawning, "mmm?"

"Before BA and Face come back, what happened after the crash, in that year before you were transferred to my unit?"

Murdock blinked, and sat up, looking around, seeing that Face, BA and the van were gone. He rubbed his eyes, and leaned forward, arms crossed over his knees, resting his chin on his forearm, just above the bandages on his wrists, looking up at Hannibal from below.

"We were downed by rocket fire, stuck in a tree. When I got down, everybody on the ground was dying. I found Billy, his eyes'd popped out from when he fell, I guess. He was suffering, but he stayed with me. Everybody died, of their injuries, or dehydration–I was hurt too bad to go anywhere, get help, or even water. I couldn't even get back up to Carlo, watched the birds and stuff eating at him in the trees."

"I guess I went a little off after that. They started giving me suicide missions, pickin' people up with just one crewmember to do the lift, where they thought we'd probably get dead, but couldn't just leave people without trying. I was glad to have those missions. Only trouble was, I kept comin' back. I didn't want to, but I wasn't just gonna let all the men we picked up die because I wanted to be done with it. Eventually somebody noticed I was doin' crazy things with a chopper, to get out of those places alive, and sent me to you.

"Not seein' men dying every day, not smellin' blood and rot all day, that helped. Fighting back better'n anyone else, against them that killed Carlo 'n Billy...that helped more.

Murdock sighed, sitting straighter, and crossing his legs instead of hugging them, "then you three got arrested. They put me back on medical flights. I only lasted another couple months. Let them get me, after the medic flying with me got shot. I went down on purpose. Tiny cell, couldn't hardly breathe. I don't remember leaving there, just came to in a hospital, they said it was about six months later. I think it might'a been 'cause they told me you guys escaped.

"And, what happened yesterday...Face...he's not anything like Carlo. Sure, they're both pretty, but Carlo was real quiet, never knew what to say. But if you could get'm to smile, relax, like... except I think Face is a little like that, if he ever takes a thing seriously. Sometimes, that's enough, if I'm confused to start with–'s what happened last night."

"Who was Carlo?"

"Somebody I was real close to."

Hannibal tilted his head.

Murdock didn't elaborate.

Hannibal left it alone.

Breakfast consumed at a voracious rate, Murdock and BA started cleaning up, while Face went back to work on the contract forgery. Murdock bent down, to pick up a piece of sausage form the ground, and ended up on his knees, gasping.

BA stood over him, "what's wrong with you, fool?"

"Back hurts...sorry, gimme a minute..."

BA shook his head, "let me look."

Murdock looked up at the bigger man, then nodded, slowly, and let BA help him out of his jacket, both kneeling on the floor.

From where Hannibal stood, watching, he could see the bloodstains where his wounds had soaked through the thin white undershirt. BA helped Murdock get it over his head without too much pulling across his back, and moved to look at his back. Bruises and stark ribs, criss-crossed by burns and oozing cuts that had yet to heal, or even really close properly.

One of the cuts in particular, a long one crossing from the left shoulder blade across the spine, looked angry and still bloody.

"Why didn't you get anyone to take care of this?" BA sounded angry, but was exceedingly gentle in touching Murdock's back, checking the less obvious hurts.

"Didn't..." Murdock signed, and craned his neck to look at Face, who was out of earshot, then continued, "didn't want Faceman to see..."

BA shook his head, and gripped Murdock's arm, pulling him to his feet, "whatever. Come over here, I'll clean it for you."

Murdock nodded, mutely, and followed BA to sit by the doorway, in the better light. Hannibal got the first aid kit, and brought it over, crouching beside the two men.

Closer up, it looked worse. There was clearly some amount of infection in any one of the wounds, but the big one especially was oozing a mixture of blood and pus. He realized the smell might have contributed to setting Murdock off the night before.

Murdock leaned forward, bracing himself with his palms to the concrete, head down. Hannibal handed BA the squirt bottle of distilled water, and BA started carefully cleaning the worst wound. Murdock trembled, a little, by the time they finished, but it seemed to just be from the pain, he was still with them.

Hannibal left BA to bandage, and went back to the map he had been examining. As he walked away, he heard, quietly, "you get hurt again, you come to me, fool."

He glanced back, and saw Murdock leaned his head against BA's shoulder, and BA didn't push him off.

Murdock laid still on the floor, Faceman working on the forgery, beside him. He must have made some noise, because Face had come over, and sat down beside him, as he slept. Now, Murdock was waking up, and was more than a little happy to find his friend beside him.

Face's hip was against his shoulder, as the smaller man worked, cross-legged, hunched over his project with some intensity. Murdock smiled, and buried his head in the pillow, avoiding breathing in too much, since it was stuffed with dirty laundry.

They needed to go to the laundromat.

Beside him, he could hear Billy's tail slapping on the ground. He swallowed.

Dirty laundry and Billy wagging, a man who made him buzz sitting beside him.

He screwed his eyes shut, and tried to fight off the memory-hallucination, but it was too intense, and he lost before he could even really muster a fight.

Carlo sitting beside him, as Murdock laid on his bunk, Billy on the floor to their right, wagging and watching them. Murdock stretched an arm across Carlos's lap, displacing the laundry he was sorting, as he pulled the other man bodily closer to himself, and wrapped around him.

"James..." Carlo laughed, and stopped what he was doing, "if I don't sort this, you're going to end up with my pants, and then you'll just look silly."

"That's your own damn fault."

"That I'm short?"

"Yes. Be taller, then we can forget about laundry entirely."

Carlo laughed, "uh-huh."

Murdock buried his face in his friend's leg, "besides, I'm in your pants often enough..."

Carlo shoved at him, laughing. Billy barked, and wagged, and jumped up on the cot, knocking the two piles of dirty laundry to the floor.

"Billy!"

Murdock laughed, and turned over, playing with the dog's ears, and letting him lick his face, his eyes bright with affection and never-ceasing energy.

"Stop it, that tickles!"

Face turned, "what, Murdock?"

Murdock blinked, and looked up at Face, for a long moment. Then he shook his head, "they were blue."

"What were?"

"Billy's eyes. I remembered. They were blue."


End file.
